and so
we went
high
into the
san diego mountains
4,000 feet up
through
rocky landscapes
national forest
great expanses
up and up
and
up
winding
turns
and
twists
and
landed
in the
tiny
mountain
gold rush town
of julian
known for
apple pies
gold
stargazing
and
friendly welcomes
and
wound our way
back down again.
—
what is straight? a line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart,
oh, no, it’s curved like a road through mountains.
– tennessee williams
—
image credit: cdn.calisphere.org
not exactly our flight experience.
but somewhat similar.
there was carpeting.
and we were on a plane.
(not me, but very similar)
the Alaskan tree frog
freezes solid
during the winter
including
stopping it’s heart
and then
thaws in the spring
and
hops away!
—
image credit: snakebytestv
this was sent to me
by
my sister
and
i could
identify
with
every word
for it’s
an
approach
to life
that i share
with the small boy
in the words above
and then
there was
the orange sticky note
that
she attached
to it
and i
saw
this
as
a
wonderful
compliment
and
a
precious
gift
for
it shows
that
she truly
knows
who i am.
valentine’s night
was wonderful
downtown
beautiful view
of the
frozen river
shared border
between
two countries
with
cityscapes
old and new
snow falling
no worries
about driving
bitter cold
warm company
a new dress
romantic
took a cab
to a
lovely dinner
in a beautiful
historic house
glowing with warmth
and
hints of
delicious food
and then
the play
one of my favorites
sweet
musical
love story
calm
and after
ready for
the trip back
into
the
comforting embrace
of
our warm hotel
but
the cabs
were hiding
in
places unknown
staying warm inside
remote garages
and
mg rescued
a woman’s lost glove
part of a another
happy couple
and
in return
we met them
they were
in the same
transportation predicament
waiting for their car
and she said
‘don’t worry.
you have a ride with us.’
and
we uber-ed
with the
random strangers
when
the driver
finally arrived
we immediately
headed
in the wrong direction
turn signal on
lost
confused
friendly
new driver
mario
second day on the job
in over his head
from brazil
no sense of direction
worse than mine
didn’t know the city at all
using his boss’s car
so much laughter
and we had
a crazy ride
and saw
our hotel
in the
opposite direction
drove through the city
more laughter
one of our hipster
fellow passengers
and tried to
take on the role
of navigator
she had begun
celebrating early
and was
much loved by her partner
who accepted
her funny side
and her state of
altered reality
that was clear
and we all
told mario
‘look for the biggest building in the city.
the one you see in all the pictures.
head towards the river.
you can’t miss it.’
but
somehow
he did
miss it
and
even more
laughter
and
survival bonding
and i
offered her
my rose
as a thank you
for the ride
as they finally
dropped us
and headed off
for places unknown
their own destination
even farther away
and it was
like being part of
a performance art skit
and
so glad
we held on
embraced the adventure
for the ride of our lives
the perfect ending
to a magical night.
—-
be willing to step outside your comfort zone once in a while; take the risks in life that seem worth taking. the ride might not be as predictable if you’d just planted your feet and stayed put, but it will be a heck of a lot more interesting.
– edward whitacre, jr.
what better way
to
spend my day
than with
a dragon
a mermaid
a sparkly green spider
a black cat chanteuse
and
a fairy
on piano?
on the beautiful island of jamaica
a few years back
i
went
horseback riding
with my friend
and a ‘guide’
and no regulations
and no paperwork
and off we went
up
into the mountains
only to find
a tiny coffee shop
in the middle of nowhere
serving wonderful
blue mountain coffee
and
a farmer
way up high
on the mountain
who had a cooler
of local beer
and
who grew
local crops
some legal
some not
we stopped
for a rest
and a beer
and
tried out
the local crops
then headed
back down the mountain
and my horse
took off like a shot
running
at top speed
and
we flew
through the trees
over the trail
into the bushes
i pulled back
on the reins
with all of my strength
to slow him down
held on tight
planning to roll
when i would
at last
be thrown off
the guide
caught up
grabbed my reins
yelled something
to my horse
who finally
slowed down
and said
‘oh, mon. i forgot to tell you
you are riding
‘lightning’
he loves to race
as fast as the wind
whenever
there are other horses around
glad you held on’
and my friend caught up and said
‘ i saw your sandals fly off
as you galloped away
and it was one wild ride
to see from behind.’
and i said,
‘good thing
i wore my ‘relax’ shirt.’
though
i’m not sure
my horse could read
—
riding: the art of keeping a horse between you and the ground. ~author unknown
and i couldn’t be happier.
part of my family lives down under.
and soon
they will be up top with us for a while.
and i will have my dream
of all of the daughters
and all of the sons in law
and all of the grand babies
in one place at one time.
and it is sure to be an adventure.
—
Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future.
Gail Lumet Buckley
turns out it’s none of the above. it’s the rug i have on my wood floor, and it’s wool comes from a mountain goat or lamb or some sort of unknown animal, perhaps an otter, but it’s hard to know for sure.
and after such a long and hearty winter, it was time to wash my filthy flokati and bring it back into the fresh and clean spring feel now inhabiting the cottage. i researched online and found that the scandanavians traditionally throw it outside on top of a pile of fresh snow and beat it into clean submission with a stick. i then went with the laundromat option, so as to maintain at least some illusion of normalcy with my neighbors for just a bit longer.
i invited my friend m to go on a ‘goat washing adventure’ with me. she was in immediately, as she is up for most anything. and while she wasn’t sure exactly what we’d be doing, she knew that we always have fun doing whatever it might be. upon notifying her family, she was quickly questioned by her daughters, who said they never knew you could wash a rug, and asked why it had never happened in their house. and why it was never going to. i understood this, and if mine was not so ‘pet-like’, it never would have happened in my house either. that settled, we headed off to super sud’s.
all you need:
the flokati, some strong coffee, a bottle of gentle woolite, lots of coins. good company,
and of course, a dog brush.
greeted by the manager, with no bra, a benjamin the dog sweatshirt,
and a personality like a drill sergeant, who told us not to overload, we were warned and ready.
ummmm…
there were so many options, signs, warnings. so much potential for trouble.
so much math.
i should have listened better in school.
more math! and then, not working after all.
but, somehow it had a homey feel about it.
and it had with something for everyone.
the kitchen sink, with notes from mom.
the tech center.
the two odd cousins in the den.
the food and entertainment in the family room area.
the sports memorabilia corner.
the centrifuge?
the book nook.
here i am, reading and laughing out loud at
‘humor at the speed of life’,
written by fellow blogger, ned, (http://nedhickson.com).
and here is m, after the wash,
fluffing the flokati, with the dog brush,
bringing it back to it’s original luster.
she is taking her job very seriously.
and she is primping and pampering her
like dorothy upon arriving in the emerald city.
and at last, she is a beauty once more.
and after much coffee, many laughs,
more warnings, and a few scoldings from the sergeant,
we are on our way.
and the flokati
is ready to be welcomed back to the cottage,
fresh and fluffy, once more.
whatever it might be.
and now that i look at it,
i think it might be muskrat wool.
—
“I’ve buried a lot of my laundry in the back yard.”
― Phyllis Diller
my boyfriend was an irish canadian, true and true, funny, and smart, and creative, and happy – a footloose and friendly graduate student and just what i needed at the time. i’d just been divorced, and we’d met in the states, he was my roommate’s cousin, here for a family visit. we’d planned to all go to an american baseball game together, but it was rained out, so he and i sat up all night, watching old movies, talking and laughing. he was kind of a cross between david letterman and tom hanks, with a bad boy streak, and i fell in love with him immediately. the first time i went to visit him in his hometown of ottawa, i was both a bit nervous and excited to see him. on our first day there, he took me to the beautiful town of hull, in quebec.
we rented a car and drove to a little neighborhood bar in the middle of town. once there, we were celebrating my visit with a few adult beverages and having a great time, and i began to spread my cheer around a bit and chat up the locals. having taken french in school for a number of years, it somehow all came back quickly, and i became amazingly more ‘fluent’ in direct correlation to the number of drinks i had. (l’alcohol math de francais theory)
i talked to everyone around me and soon was engaged in deep conversation with a local motorcycle rider.
we were having a ball, people were very friendly, and i was sure they could understand my french clearly. at some point, i even felt comfortable enough to take the motorcycle guy’s sunglasses off of his head and wear them myself, after asking him in french if it was okay. he responded to me in french with words that i had not heard in all my classes, and after my boyfriend spoke a bit of french back to him, i gave him back his glasses. we all smiled and said our goodbyes, and we decided it was probably a good time to head home.
we got into our car and as soon as we had driven 100 feet, we made a quick stop.
we were suddenly surrounded by a huge pack of police.
we were told to get out of the car with our hands up, and i wondered just what he was into that i hadn’t known about. i began to imagine all sorts of scenarios, he was really an international drug dealer, a gun runner, a smuggler, a spy?, and i told them i didn’t understand, as i did not speak a word of french.
once out of the car, they told me to put my shoes back on, as i was now barefoot for some reason, and ordered us to open the trunk and step back. i imagined there would be some contraband, a body – god knows what. i looked at him and wondered just who i had really become involved with. after a thorough search, and a questioning of each of us, they determined that we were not criminals after all, and explained that they’d had been staking us out for the last 2 hours while we were at the bar celebrating and speaking french, and that we had rented the exact make and model and color of a car that had been recently involved in a local armed robbery. they apologized profusely for the inconvenience and advised us to drive carefully.
ADIEU!
i said goodbye to the police and we got back in our car to head out and talk about what an eventful day it had been. i took my shoes off once again and then we laughed until we cried all of the way back to his house. in english, i told him that i had believed he was a clever felon for just a bit, and in french, we told each other that we loved one another. as long as we dated, it never failed to be an adventure. right up until the day we said goodbye. and we remain friends.
I am so clever that sometimes I don’t understand a single word of what I am saying. Oscar Wilde
—–
image credits: rcmp, tumblr.com, wikipedia, moviesmakeover.com
I didn't have my glasses on.... 